A Moment of Revelation
by babyvfan
Summary: Eyes blazing like green fire, face slit with cuts and caked with dry blood, power radiating from his body, burning with the intensity of the sun, he is an avenging angel. Like Gabriel. Like Michael. And every feeling you have, every bit of longing and desperation, all the emotions that have pricked you, your chest, your heart rushes to the surface.
**This story came to life on Monday during my Poetry class. We were meant to do a free-write based on a poem the teacher had us read and somehow mine became a drarry short story. Once I started writing, I wanted to continue it. And now here we are. It's my first drarry drabble and I hope you guys like it.**

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He doesn't resemble the scrawny boy you met at the robes shop so many years ago. So small and skinny, practically being eaten alive by heavy layers of clothes that were better suited for a killer whale than a boy.

He doesn't look like the irritating git you spent so much time and energy harassing just for the hell of it. Because it was fun. Because it made your day. Because you were still hurt by the rejected hand.

He doesn't look like the devil Father painted him out to be, meant to destroy their world. The enemy your mind created, one tasked with making your life miserable. The source of your unhappiness.

He isn't a boy.

He isn't a man.

He isn't even human. At least not in your eyes, not right after he did the unimaginable. Not right after he finally defeated the devil and freed us. All of us..

Eyes blazing like green fire, face slit with cuts and caked with dry blood, power radiating from his body, burning with the intensity of the sun, he is an avenging angel. Like Gabriel. Like Michael.

And every feeling you have, every bit of longing and desperation, all the emotions that have pricked you, your chest, your heart rushes to the surface. Surging through every direction, backing you into a corner. Crushing you into nothing,

You watch him at the bridge, analyzing the emotions that flicker across his bruised but beautiful face as he and his friends reminisce about the war. About the wand that ended the Dark Lord. About why it didn't work for him, which played part in his downfall.

You whimper as you hear your name emerging from his lips. Your given name. Chills rattle your skin, slithering like snakes, as you realize this was the second time he said it. The first time was used in a form of taunting. This time, it was used in realization. Like an answer to a puzzle he finally solved.

You're still shaking as his friends depart and the angel is left alone, looking out the horizon. So many thoughts go on in your head, colliding and overlapping. Hundreds of them twisted in a jumble of knots. You have no idea where to start cutting.

Before you even know it, you're walking. Not away but forward. Towards the angel. Towards the not-boy, not-man. Towards him.

He doesn't move. He doesn't even turn his head. But you know that he knows you're there. He's simply waiting for you to make the next move, which is something you're both grateful for and terrified of.

After all what can be said? You had a chance to turn him in and redeem the tarnished Malfoy name. But you didn't. He could have left you in the fire. Left you to burn. No one would blame him. Not even you. Yet he didn't. You denied that you knew him. He reached out his hand.

Life-debt were given and fulfilled. We owe each other nothing. After today, you would be nothing. Not to the world who will be after your head for being a puppet to a madman. Not to your classmates who will brand you as a coward and traitor. Not to him after dealing with Voldemort, after so much pain and death. Given everything that happened, who in the right mind would worry about a childhood rivalry?

Hurt shoots through your heart a thousand time. Dozens of searing arrows hitting their mark each time. The thought, in one word, stings. Not longer being relevant to him. Not longer mattering. It's as terrifying as watching Muggles and Muggle-borns die on your kitchen table, their severe remains chew toys to the snake. It's as terrifying as the dark one toying with your mind. It's more terrifying than any fear you ever had.

"Potter." His name leaves your lips before you know it, hanging heavily between us like a bridge.

The angel's lips cracked but they don't raise. Not yet. A tightness builds in your chest at the faint tease and you wonder whether you'll ever be gifted with a full one.

"I assume you'll want this back." The angel reaches into his torn, grim-dusted jacket and pulls out your wand.

The beginning steps to a dance he started and you're meant to finish. He returns wand, you take wand, both of us deem this civil act as a truce, and then we go our merry ways.

It was a dance you practiced and rehearsed in your head the whole way to the bridge, running over the steps and the words as you walked to the angel. Only now, being so close to him, you barely remember them. You can't bring yourself to continue on.

Because you...him...beautiful...confusing...feelings leak and burst into you, overflowing your system like rushing water. You're terrified but also excited. You decide to let all be damned. You decide to stop fighting. After all, one war is finished. Why not end the one that's been plaguing your mind, your heart for years?

Knees trembling, you retrieve your wand but before the angel retreats, you tug at his wrist, holding him close. His brows furrow in confusion and your heart is doing multiple cartwheels and flips as big, beautiful emerald-greens look up at you.

"That's not..." It's a struggle to get the words out, but you charged through the fear. Continue talking. While you still have his attention. While we're still close. "It's not the only thing I want."

For extra measure, with utmost care, your thumb brushes against his and a spark ignites through the contact, bouncing from him to you, searing through your skin, pulsing through your veins.

Confusion dances along those emerald-greens, with suspicion and surprise following behind. You brace yourself for the cutting remarks. For his hand to be snatched away and the push that would take you back several feet. You take a deep breath and ready yourself for disappointment and humiliation.

Instead what you receive is a gentle brush against your thumb. A firmer grip holding your hand. And-your heart is rattling in your chest as you look up, stilled-oxygen clogging your throat-a smile spreads tugs at his lips. It's small, it's tentative, and the most beautiful thing you ever seen. The most wonderful gift you've ever received.

"Okay." Harry whispers.


End file.
